The Butterflies are Dying
by Ekaterinn
Summary: Serenity held Endymion tight as the black-and-gold butterflies surronded them where they had fallen, here in the imperial gardens...


Dead Butterflies S Warnings: Angst...lots of it!   
Credit Where Credit is Due: Bej edited this for me. EA also helped me with a bit of the imagery.   
Notes: Gomen ne if you were waiting for more of "Knife of Romance". That will be out on the weekend^_~. In the meantime, this is the fic I wrote for Usagi's birthday (June 30th) on the Sailor Moon Romance Fanfiction list. It's from Serenity's point-of-viwe during Crystal Toyko. Also, this is an one-shot, so no sequels for this one^^;;. As always, comments and/or criticisms are highly welcome^-~. 

The Butterflies are Dying   
1/1   
By Ekaterinn Ciel Duval   


They flutter around us, constantly seeking more contact with   
our skin, our tears, and our lives. I am too weak to do more than   
faintly try to brush them off of the both of us now . . .   
and he is too far gone to even care anymore.   
With a sob, I sink to the ground, pulling him with me. I   
hold his head in my lap, among my skirts and cradle him with my arms.   
We have fallen here in the the desolation of the hushed lull of the lush palace gardens. The   
beautiful trees and colorful flowers here are still the same, except,   
of course, for those cursed black-and-gold butterflies that cover them   
too.   
But at least here, he can feel the caress of the cool air.   
At least . . .   
at least he'll die here, lying close to the earth he loved so much.   
As for me . . .   
I look up and see a pale moon in the sky, although the sun is still   
shining.   
Mother . . .   
Is this what you wanted for me?   
Is this what you wanted for any of us?   
Did you know this was going to happen just when   
we had everything figured out?   
It's funny . . .   
I always thought all we would have to worry about were threats from the   
outside . . .   
but . . .   
in the end   
it's our own bodies that are betraying us. 

And his is still so beautiful. 

Flowing purple hair and deep dark eyes that look right into my soul and   
right into my heart.   
How long?   
I wonder.   
How many more hours, minutes, seconds do we have?   
My tears fall and splash onto his face, scaring the butterflies away.   
Oh gods above, if there are any gods above, why us?   
I remember the day the black-and-gold butterflies first descended to us   
from the heavens.   
Chibi-Usa was filled with childish delight.   
"Look how pretty they are, Mother!" she cried, dancing around   
with them until I could only make out a swirl of pink, gold, and black.   
"Aren't they wonderful?"   
She was the first to fall.   
She . . .   
No! I won't think about that . . .   
pink and gold and black all over again . . .   
but no laughter . . .   
nothing at all except sobs which I don't even hear as   
coming from myself. 

I shudder and hold Endymion closer to me.   
His skin is still warm.   
That's a good sign, right?   
A hopeful sign . . .   
as if any hope was left for us at all.   
I laugh bitterly.   
He does not stir.   
No, I knew that all hope died when the cherry blossoms fell,   
pink petal by pink petal,   
from the royal orchard, the day my daughter fell ill.   
The same trees are bare and empty and our future . . .   
her future is an eternity measured   
in breaths   
instead of centuries   
now.   
If I close my eyes, I can still see her falling, still see everybody   
dying and leaving me all alone.   
If I close my eyes, I still smell the stench of death   
accompanying the bodies of my friends.   
Of my senshi, dying as they tried to protect me.   
I don't deserve protecting.   
If I did, I would be able to find a way to keep all of this from   
happening. If I did, the crystal would have worked and nobody would ever have   
to left alone again.   
If I close my eyes, I can still hear their whimpers as   
their tortured souls left their bodies. I can still hear them screaming for   
me to protect them, to save them.   
Save them when I cannot even save him.   
If I close my eyes . . .   
so I don't.   
Instead, I open them and watch the silver of my kingdom be   
taken over by the gold and by the black.   
Silver tarnishes, but gold does not. Their lives will be the   
death of us. The gold covers the silver of the city and the black,   
the death, coats the blue of the sky. I cannot see the sun anymore.   
I feel dizzy.   
I hold him tighter and tighter.   
His heart is beating slower and slower.   
Is it so near the end now?   
I can't . . .   
I can't hold on much longer . . .   
Endymion, I am so sorry. 

We are dying. 

I can accept that fact now.   
But I still don't know why. 

After the first deaths, people begun to whisper.   
Whisper that we must have done something, anything to make   
the gods, our ancestors angry.   
Angry enough to send death to us in beauty, disease   
clad in black and gold, the souls of the dead coming down from the   
heavens to wreak revenge on the earth. 

Mercury laughed and reassured us that that idea was silly, that   
there must be a rational explanation for this plague.   
But after she too fell to the harbingers of death that   
she was trying so desperately to understand, I begun to   
wonder.   
Had we somehow been amiss? Or worse, was it all   
somehow my fault?   
No!   
No . . .   
but I don't know any more.   
I guess I never did.   
My arms tighten around him.   
I no longer have the strength to try to push the butterflies   
off his face, off his body. I can only see his closed eyes now. The rest is gold and black. Yet, those ill-fated colors are no longer twitching and turning about. I watch their motionless forms in momentary fascination.   
The death bringers have brought death on themselves as well.   
I would laugh, but I don't care anymore.   
All I care about is him.   
His breaths are coming excruciatingly slow now.   
So are mine.   
I rest my cheek on his.   
"I love you." I whisper as his chest rises for one last time. "I love you.".   
I smell the scent of withered white roses briefly as I, too,   
fall into oblivion.   
I love you.   
The souls of the departed are butterflies.   
But the butterflies are dead. 

~Fin~   
  
  



End file.
